


every lever you pull

by parrishes



Series: i literally have no excuse for this??? [1]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Alpha Males, Daddy Dom Rufus Shinra, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, F/M, Humiliation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Smut, Teasing, i am SO SORRY i don't know what came over me omg, i cannot believe that's a tag i put on a fic jesus god help me because i'm going STRAIGHT TO HELL, the word 'daddy' is never said but there is no other way to describe rufus here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:40:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28327677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parrishes/pseuds/parrishes
Summary: Tifa Lockhart made a deal with him. He expects her to keep it. [Rufus/Tifa, rated E or PF on the parrishes' scale for 'Pure Filth']
Relationships: Tifa Lockhart/Rufus Shinra
Series: i literally have no excuse for this??? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2074512
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	every lever you pull

**Author's Note:**

> apparently rufti is a thing that i ship now??? i'm as surprised as you are

The chairs were an excellent choice on his father’s part, Rufus has to admit. Whatever dumb ideas the old man may have had, the soft, supple Wutaian leather chairs were exactly the extravagant touch the boardroom needed. 

However, Wutaian leather is nothing compared to the feel of Tifa Lockhart’s tongue on his length. Rufus sits at the head of the table, sure that the Turks are hovering invisibly somewhere nearby, and the thought of his most loyal _employees_ watching the blindfolded, bound bartender-turned-terrorist lunge desperately to try and fit him all in nearly makes him burst in her sweet, sweet cheeks. 

(Especially Rude. Rufus is both petty and in need of a birthday present for the Turk. Having the girl blow him in the boardroom and allowing Rude to surreptitiously watch the object of his lust in such a compromising position fulfills both requirements.) 

She needs some training, but they’ve been working on it, on her taking him all the way—it’s been hard for her, Rufus is sure, as he knows himself to be an exacting and demanding teacher. But he gets results. 

Tifa is blindfolded, so he can’t see the look in her eyes as she does her best to take him to the root, but she is mostly naked otherwise—her nipples are flushed and puffy and her thighs are glistening with the wetness that has been there for hours upon hours—and her arms are bound behind her back, forcing those incredible tits of hers to jut out like an offering to some debauched, raunchy god. There’s no real need for her to be naked, but he likes her that way, knows that the humiliation seems to thrill her, even if she pretends she hates it. 

The only thing she wears is the belt that holds her vibrator in place. Rufus keeps the rabbit inside her on constantly (ever since he began his, ah... lessons with her, in exchange for keeping her motley little terrorist cell free and on the streets) on a frequency that does the barest minimum—it’s enough to keep her aroused, stimulated, but nowhere near enough to allow her to come. It drives her absolutely mad, which, after all, is the point.

“Take it all,” he orders, fisting a hand in her hair, urging her back down his shaft. His head nudges the back of her throat and she starts to gag, and he tightens his grip and keeps pushing, nearly yanking on her scalp before he taps his phone with a few, lazy fingers. 

The buzzing subsides, lightning from a dull, consistent drone to something almost imperceptible. Tifa whines and moans in displeasure around him, and he grits his teeth as the vibrations rumble along the underside of his cock. 

Shit. That nearly did him in. She _cannot_ know that. 

“You know how this goes,” Rufus says, voice smoother than ever to hide the effect her moans are having on him. “How long have we been working on this? I am not a patient man, Lockhart. Take it all, do it right, and maybe I’ll think about giving you a treat.” He runs a thumb along her swollen lower lip. “Be a good girl, now, and do what I say.” 

He pulls her up by the hair, until only his head remains inside her hot little mouth. “Suck on it,” he commands, and she does, though with a whine that he can’t discern the cause of, licking a bead of his precum off her pretty, plush red lips and wrapping them around the tip, sucking gently. “Lick it too. Use the point of your tongue and the flat. Fuck, Lockhart, do I need to teach you everything?” 

Tifa moans in acquiescence, using the point of her tongue to trace his slit, tasting the salty precum which is flowing entirely too freely for his taste. She teases him with blunt, little jabs at random spots before laving his head with her tongue, before going back to suckling him. She places a little kiss, soft and gentle, on his cockhead before she does, though, and for some reason it startles Rufus more than he expects. 

He navigates his phone at lightning speed. A few taps, and the rabbit is humming steadily again, causing Lockhart to choke on a moan, lips still clinging to his tip. It feels absolutely incredible, but he’s not ready to be done with her, so he hauls her off his dick, taking exquisite, vindictive pleasure at her sullied, disheveled state. 

She comes off him with a wet pop and a breathless gasp, and he forces her all the way upright with a hand on her throat until her ear hovers near his mouth: “Playing sweet with me will get you nowhere, Lockhart. You’re just a hole for me to fuck. But you like that, don’t you?” he asks, as he slips his thumb between her lips. She catches it in her teeth, sinks them into his flesh, but the pain vanishes in an instant when she sucks with all her might on the appendage. “See, that’s what you need to do to my cock. What’s so tough about that, Lockhart? Why is something so simple so hard for you to do?” 

Tifa’s response is an exaggerated moan, too exaggerated to be genuine, and an even harder suck on his thumb.

Okay. He’s had enough of this. 

Rufus pulls his thumb out and shoves her back down, roughly, until she’s back on her knees between his legs again, where she belongs. His cock pushes solidly at her mouth and she grunts in surprise, but he takes her chin and jaw in his hand and squeezes until her lips part. “Open wide, Tifa,” he hisses, before his head passes through them and his shaft follows. 

It’s hard, admittedly, for Tifa to open her jaw wide enough to accommodate his girth without dragging her teeth everywhere. In Rufus’s opinion, though, that’s her problem. 

He takes a brief moment to take a rough estimate of how much of him she has in her mouth, how much of him is still outside, before he decides he doesn’t care and presses his hips forward anyway.

“Take it,” he growls. “Take me. Relax your throat—if you choke, or gag, I turn it off. Climaxing will be a distant memory for you.” On one hand, it’s kind of an empty threat—he hasn’t let her come in over twenty-four hours. On the other, he means it. 

Tifa whimpers as he goes as far as he can, but he doesn’t think it’s from pain—he thinks it’s from her painful, desperate arousal, if her stiff, pebbled nipples and flushed white skin and the sopping wet curls between her legs are any indication. 

Lockhart is a cockslut. And she _likes_ it, too. 

“Good girl,” he whispers, stroking her sweaty, sticky cheek, because she is. She _is_ being good for him: obedient, attentive, so he cranks the rabbit up a few notches. And then he begins to move, hips canting slow and deep into the hot, wet cavern of her mouth. He grinds against the back of her throat and she moans, and he moans too—he doesn’t care about hiding it anymore. All he cares about is the woman on her knees with his dick down her throat. 

Tifa is breathless as his pace picks up, fingers gripping opposite forearms in a vain attempt to grasp _him_ instead. She doesn’t suck him now, but really, she can’t—even Rufus doesn’t expect her to be able to do two things at once. 

But there are one or two other things she _can_ do. 

“Swallow,” Rufus pants, nearly out of his mind with the effort of not completely pile-driving her face. “Now. Do it—swallow, Lockhart, _fuck_ —”

She’s being so compliant. Docile. While Rufus admits that he likes fighting with her, there’s also _something_ about her submissiveness that really, _really_ gets him going, that lights an intense, compelling fire somewhere deep inside. 

The next time his cockhead is at the back of her throat, she does as he asks and swallows. “Hollow your cheeks,” he groans, one finger on the slider for her rabbit, engrossed in the obscene sound of the slurps and smacks coming from below, lost in the feeling of her sweet, silken mouth around him.

When she hollows her cheeks around his shaft and massages his head with her next swallow, he knows he’s done for, and he’s right. 

He comes with a roar, buried as far in her as he can go. Spurt after spurt after spurt of him hits the back of her throat, and he can hear her grunts and groans as she tries to keep up. 

“Swallow it. All of it,” he orders, curt and measured despite the afterglow stampeding through him, and it’s a relief to feel like he’s finally the one in command again. “You better not waste a single drop, Lockhart. You won’t like what will happen if you do.” 

For some reason, she does as she’s ordered _again_. She swallows him down her throat like a good little girl and once he’s done, when he pulls his limp, flaccid cock out of her mouth, she chases it with a whine of displeasure, laving it with her tongue a little longer and rougher than necessary to make sure he’s nice and clean. How polite.

(It almost makes him hard again, but he has to admit it: she almost sucked his damn soul out of his body. Maybe he should consider accelerating some of her lessons.)

For some time—minutes or hours, he doesn’t know—the only sounds in the room are his deep breaths, Tifa’s sighs, and a muffled hum that a stranger would notice, look around for, but never suspect the origin of. 

Rufus has one hell of an afterglow, a comfy chair, and though his dick is hanging limply out of his pants, he doesn’t mind. He could fall asleep right where he is. He might, actually. Let Tifa explain it to whoever walks in. Let them see her the way she is right now. 

He cracks open one eye to look at her. The blindfold has miraculously stayed in place, but the rest of her face is an absolute mess. Her cheeks are flushed, swollen, strands of dark hair plastered to her skin with saliva and his semen. Her lips are shiny and bruised, and the rest of her hair looks like a bird died in it, and then a second bird came to eat the first. 

Rufus lets his gaze linger, moving down her body slowly. Strands of hair are plastered to her throat, as well, her tits too—she must have drooled enough to fill a reservoir, he thinks, prideful and he doesn’t know why. Her nipples are still hard nubs, gooseflesh pebbling the areolas, and his mouth waters as the image of them between his teeth flashes in his mind.

He sets it aside. Another day. Hopefully sometime soon. 

Finally, he reaches the end of his trip down her body. The curls between her legs have been soaked for hours—in fact, he’d made her show him how wet she was before he ordered her to her knees—so that doesn’t surprise him. He almost reaches out to touch the soft flesh of her inner thigh, to trace the dried-up trails of slick that flowed out of her with nowhere else to go but stick to her skin, but he holds himself back. She’s a mess down here, too—sticky with her dried juices, gleaming with fresh moisture. 

(He has a fleeting thought that all that wetness drying up on her thighs is an absolute waste when it should be going in his mouth instead. He decides to keep that fantasy to himself as well. Tifa can never know that he actually wants to please her.)

Rufus takes it all in—she looks ruined and ravished and it’s… _delectable_. Mouth-watering, in fact. It makes him want to gather her in his lap, spear her open on his cock, and let her ride away until she shudders herself into unconsciousness. But no, that won’t do either. No matter how glorious it might be.

The leather protests in his grip, reminding him of where they are. He watches Tifa, who is never quite still—her hips circle, raise and dip, all because the rabbit is still humming steadily away. 

Rufus scans the empty boardroom, Tifa’s thighs gently brushing together, and instantly comes up with a plan. 

“Hey, Lockhart,” he calls, and her head tilts in his direction, so he knows she’s listening. “That… wasn’t complete shit, just now. Glad to know I can teach a _used_ dog some new tricks.” She stiffens at that, and he meant her to—it was supposed to be insulting. He wants to provoke her. 

“This _dog_ knows plenty of tricks,” she retorts, but he sticks his thumb between her lips again and shushes her. 

“If you’re going to keep being mouthy, I’ll muzzle you,” he warns, as her tongue swirls around his digit, but really… he’s going to gag her anyway. “And here I was going to give you a treat.” He slaps the mahogany table with his open palm. “Up, girl! Come.” 

She doesn’t move. He can only imagine the glare in her eyes, lurking behind the blindfold. It makes him positively giddy. 

Rufus repeats his commands, and still she doesn’t move. Okay. If she’s going to be stubborn now, she needs to see that her stubbornness has consequences. He’s given her two chances already, which is more than he’s given anyone else, even a Turk. If politeness won’t do the trick, perhaps fear will. 

“Tifa,” he calls, and the timbre of his voice is cold and brusque. “You have one more chance. Get on the table, or I dial this thing back to the _maintenance_ course.” 

She’s still not moving, aside from her restless hips. _Bitch_. She’s really going to call him on his bluff. 

“I mean it,” he says, as he starts to drag the slider back in tortuously slow increments and each time, the vibration decreases, little by little. 

He’s only barely started lessening the intensity when she realizes that no, he isn’t kidding. He laughs outright at her haste to scramble gracelessly onto the table, banging her knee on the edge as she tries to climb up without the use of her arms. 

“There you go,” he says, still chuckling, giving her pert, sweet ass a playful smack. She kneels on the table with her back to him, head turned over her shoulder, waiting for him to speak. “Are you really that eager for your treat, Lockhart? What makes you think that it’s what you’ve been craving?” 

At that, she looks genuinely alarmed, inasmuch as she can behind a blindfold, with her arms bound behind her. Rufus almost— _almost_ —wishes he had a bowl of something for her to eat as her reward, instead of what he has planned. 

(Whipped cream, perhaps. But the sight of her little pink tongue lapping at it might be a bit too much for his self-control. Yes, no bowl is for the best, after all.) 

“You want your treat, you need to be a good girl and listen,” he says, caressing and squeezing her buttocks rhythmically. “Do exactly as I say, or your reward is off the table. Literally.” 

She nods, a bit frantically. There’s no way she could know that his thumb is hovering over the sliding bar on his phone, waiting for the moment, but it is. 

Rufus lets go of her ass to push her forcefully towards the rest of the table. “On your knees, Lockhart,” he purrs, and she hurries to obey. “Face flat against the table. Ass up.” He’s sure that this is not the most comfortable position in the world...

... but he also doesn’t give a shit. “And last… spread those legs wide open for me, Lockhart. I want to see every inch, every nook and cranny of you. I want to see how wet you got sucking my cock in this boardroom like a whore in a Wall Market alley. Think you’re capable of that?” 

Tifa nods again, clearly nervous that he’ll change his mind. “Good girl,” he murmurs, and without warning, he increases the speed of her vibrator to _almost_ the maximum. 

Her moan is deafening in the otherwise-silent room. Rufus hopes, for her sake, that there’s no one in the nearby bathroom. He can only imagine the noises coming through the air ducts.

Tifa is writhing on the table, dragging her tits this way and that as the rabbit works against her clitoris. It’s an enchanting sight, and he can’t look away. 

“Is that what you wanted, Tifa?” he asks over her pants and cries, nonchalant, like this is something that happens at every board meeting. 

Her cry is all the answer he needs, but she calls out to him anyway. “ _Yes_ ,” she shouts, and it thrills him, but then he sees something that makes him take pause. 

“Ah, ah,” he admonishes, dialing the intensity back a few notches, reveling in her wail when the sensation ebbs. “Legs stay open. You need to show me what I’m doing to you.” He waits for her to adjust, spreading herself wide open so that he can see every single part of her soaking-wet cunt, the ears of the rabbit nestled sweet and snug against her clit, the body of the vibrator inside her channel. 

Once she’s following orders again, he increases the speed. Sure enough, her cries are loud and echoing in the room, and Rufus sighs before he stands from the chair. 

“You’re going to bring every single person still in the building if you keep on moaning like a little slut,” he whispers in her ear. “You had your shot, Lockhart. Looks like I’m going to have to keep you quiet the old-fashioned way.” 

With that, he takes her soaked-through panties from the day out of his pocket, and, without ceremony, shoves them artlessly into her mouth. 

She moans around the gag, hips still trying to fruitlessly control the vibrator instead of surrendering to it, and Rufus is content to watch her struggle.

She doesn’t even know it thrusts. He smiles at the thought, and watches her try and glean any bit of additional stimulation she can—Lockhart can contort her body into some truly impressive positions—to push her over the edge. 

Rufus settles into his chair, eyes fixed on the sight in front of him, and he feels himself hardening again. Tifa is beautiful when she’s being relentlessly teased, so willing, so sweet, so desperate to come that she’ll do anything he asks. But they don’t have time for a second round, so Rufus resigns himself to the cold shower looming in his future. 

She’s so needy, so wild. He needs to add to it, be a part of it. “I can’t believe you’d do this for that sad little crew of yours,” he calls out, trying to goad her on. “Are they so worth it? Are they worth your pride, your dignity? Is it worth it for you? Is _this_ worth it for you?” as her head tosses left and right, back and forth. 

“Maybe it is,” he murmurs, almost more to himself than her. “Maybe you like it. Maybe you like being fucked any way I please. Maybe…” and he looks up at her, wishing she could see him grin, glancing down at the button that will turn on the thrusting. “Maybe you _want_ them to see you like this.” 

Tifa moans as he moves the slider to the max. “That’s it, isn’t it?” Oh, this is wonderful. “The Strife shit,” Rufus hisses as he watches her, not blind to the way she jerks at Strife’s name. “Do you think he’d want you after seeing you slobber all over my cock like a bitch in heat? After watching you beg me for it like a little whore? No, he won’t want you after all that, Tifa,” he says, relishing the way she lurches, “so it looks like you’re stuck with _me_.” 

He presses the button then, and the thrusting head of the vibrator rockets inside her without warning. She gets even louder despite the gag, but he no longer cares if anyone finds her this way. In fact… 

“What if the rest of them came in here? Heidigger, Scarlet, Palmer, Hojo, Tuesti… Imagine it, all of them sat around this table, watching you like this. Naked, your sweet little pussy wide open and leaking… could you come then? Could you finish with their eyes on you? With them judging you?” 

Tifa is almost screaming with it, she’s so, _so_ close to the edge. Rufus _wants_ her to come, so, _so_ badly. Just a little more. That’s all she needs. Just a little more. 

“Would you beg them? Beg them to touch you? Put yourself at their mercy… they’re not a merciful bunch, to be honest. Even Tuesti has his moments.” Rufus straightens in his chair. “Would you beg them to put you out of your misery and finish you off?” 

Oh, that’s definitely a _yes_ coming from around the gag. That’s an emphatic _yes._ Well, he’s glad to know what Tifa’s limit is—the answer being that she apparently doesn’t _have_ one. 

“Is that what you want from me, Tifa? To finish you? Think about them. Imagine them touching you everywhere you want to be touched. When you come for them, is it harder than you’d come for me?” 

That moan, he thinks, is a _no_. Good girl. 

“Think about Strife. Think about his eyes on you while you’re on your knees for me. Think about the look on his face when I finish on yours. Think about the way his hands will clench at his sides when yours clench in my hair as I go down on you. Think about the way he’ll gasp when you gasp as I fuck you from behind. Think about it... will he want you, after all of that? Will you want him, when I’m done with you?” 

He can’t discern any words coming from Tifa now. Just breathless, enraptured moans and cries of pleasure. 

“I know you’re close,” he whispers, moving to stand directly behind her, “and when you come, you _will_ think of _me._ _Me,_ and no one else.” He slips two fingers behind the rabbit, pushing it straight in, straight against the spot that sends her over every single time. “Come, Tifa. _Now_.” 

And, like the good girl he knows her to be, she does. 

**Author's Note:**

> where did rufus get a 24+ hour vibrator? beats the shit out of me lmaoooo
> 
> anyway, merry christmas, ya filthy animals <3 xoxo 
> 
> [[mood music]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nFpony4SvZ8)


End file.
